


Heaven Is Under The Sun

by noblet



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: M/M, Shakespeare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-07 17:05:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblet/pseuds/noblet
Summary: Written because Stephen can recite Sonnet 29 from memory and I thought that was really impressive lol.Title comes from the song Heaven Is Under The Sun by Beta Play.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written because Stephen can recite Sonnet 29 from memory and I thought that was really impressive lol.
> 
> Title comes from the song Heaven Is Under The Sun by Beta Play.

_When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,_

_I all alone beweep my outcast state._

 

Their apartment was small. Embarrassingly so.

Amy called it quirky. Somehow, through means both Stephen and Paul were never able to comprehend, she was able to collect their initial unease and added to it her own fruition, solidified their ambitions and dreams and hardships and personified it until the three of them finally had a place to call  _home._

On Saturdays, when the wind proved relentless and made Chicago live up to its name, they would take whatever leftover money they had and pooled it on the worn coffee table Amy had found behind the theatre. It sat, comfortably, in the middle of their living room, both seeming out of place and in place but never in-between. At the end of each week it would get covered with stray bills (the occasional twenty, but never anything higher than a fifty) and the pennies and nickels Stephen saved specifically for their weekend excursions.

They would sit on their knees until their legs fell asleep, half-finished cans of Keystone beside them, and counted their earnings ceremoniously. Count the fives, the tens, slide the pennies to Paul, the dimes to Stephen. And perhaps this would be enough to bag us lunch at Napoli, or maybe we could call up Charna and convince her to take us on a trip to South Bend.

On the Sundays when their savings ended null, Paul would break out his guitar, Amy would burn their dinner, and Stephen would do his best impression of Paul McCartney until the sky fell nocturne purple.


End file.
